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Title: You're a Better Man Than I, Gunga DinEmitter: NoneCharacters: Cordelia, MilesNPCs: NonePlace: Taylor HallTime: 6/16/10 - EveningSummary: In the wake of the events of Err, What?, Cordelia tries to take action about her frustrations with her peers. It doesn't go well, and she gets a new viewpoint on her image. This might not be the best of things.

Evening, however the weather is, it really /ought/ to be thunder and lightning and a rumbling storm of doom outside, judging by the muffled clanks and electrical *zaps* coming from Cordelia's room. This all comes to a head when there's one of those now-rare *whoomphs*…

… and Cordelia comes staggering out of her room, face somewhat smudged with ash. "I hadn't expected them to /blow up/…" she says in a faintly dazed tone.

Miles just happened to be on his way in for more tests, and is thus in just the right place to catch Cordelia when she comes staggering out before she falls over or anything. "You okay? What happened?"

"Oh. Merely doing something I probably shouldn't, but it would make life so much /easier/ in this school, but teenage hormones are /literally/ volatile and so they sort of blew up when I tried to manipulate them," Cordelia says, leaning a little bit into his support until the ringing in her ears stops, then she pulls away.

"Do I even want to know how you were going to manipulate them? I mean wouldn't it just be easier to put saltpeter in the food?" Miles scratches the back of his neck. "You didn't hit yourself with a dose of them, did you? Because if you were to start coming on to me that'd just be weird."

Cordelia gives Miles a dirty look that really isn't helped by the smudges of ash on her cheeks. "It probably would be, but this is a /better/ way," she says firmly. Or at least, more scientific. "And do you take me for /that/ much of an idiot? It'd be about par for the course today if /you/ started making stupid assumptions about me."

"No, I was just expressing natural concern about the possibility of a lab accident having unforseen side effects." He arches an eyebrow, if she has the lenses in to see. "What set all this off, anyway?"

"I'm tired of the hormonal drama and the assumptions that since I'm not interested in it that I must either be a.) interested in girls instead, b.) insane (I'll give them that one) or c.) a complete and utter spoilsport, or d.) lying because 'how can you dress like that and not be interested?'" Cordelia sounds as annoyed as she ever has, really. She gestures to her outfit. "I /like/ dressing like this." She does have the Spiritualist lenses in for now, so doesn't seem to have trouble fixing a most-vexed look on Miles. "It's /protective/."

"Wait, wait. Someone -actually said that to your face?-" He sighs. "So have they started climbing the walls and flinging poo at people yet?"

"I… was really, /really/ tempted," Cordelia confesses with a sigh. "But it was lunchtime and I didn't want my dessert stolen, and then she freaked out about Fein being shot by another ex-girlfriend." She pinches the bridge of her nose to ward off an incipient headache. "People who ask for my help shouldn't be so stupid, but most of them /are/."

Pause, then: "Do people say that behind my back, too?"

Miles shrugs. "Locker room talk, mostly? I mean, I know they're protective, but, uh, not to put to fine a point on it but you're wearing tight leather pants. Guys notice." A pause. "Especially when you're walking angry. Your hips sway more."

Twisting around to peer at what she can see of the fit of her pants, Cordelia considers this fact. "Thank you for the observation," she muses, turning back. "I take note of it." She turns towards her room, and stalks towards it. Perhaps his observation's correct. "It doesn't make my point any less valid: I don't dress to impress anyone save myself."

"You know, that, I know that, but you should probably forgive them if -they- don't know that right away." Yes he is briefly distracted by watching. "I mean…hell, I don't know. But I'm sorry they were rude about it. You gonna be okay?"

"I think the exact phrasing was, 'So might wanna come down off the high horse before you fall' followed by, a little bit later, 'Girls instead? Nothing wrong with that. Just can't believe you don't care, is all. I mean why else dress like that?' So you can see why I'm a /smidge/ annoyed." Cordelia measures a span between her thumb and forefinger. Her lab's a little more chaotic than normal. "I'll be all right, but you did ask what prompted this. So I told you. Now, I owed you more tests, yes?"

"Man, you're a better man than I, Gunga din. I'd have totally devolved them. Or, well, at least punched them in the throat to knock them out and then left them tied to the flag pole." He follows her into the lab, with a sigh. "Yeah. What's the agenda today, Doc?"

"I'll think of a suitable revenge." Cordelia once again pinches the bridge of her nose. "I actually thought that negating the hormonal effects might do some good, as well as be a suitable revenge, but I'd forgotten than the majority of teenage brains haven't developed properly yet, which means that neural connections are far, far too many, which leads to acting without thinking…" She shrugs, changing out the lenses on her goggles. She might not be able to see Miles entirely anymore, but she can get /some/ readings on him. "I wanted to see if Adrian's touch had any lingering effects, or if it could be replicated due to the pattern it must have laid upon you."

Miles says "Fair enough. Hell, I'd settle if it just lets me find the on-off switch." He finds a place to sit, which is no doubt harder than it sound in here. "I need to do anything special this time?""